Once there was a girl who found a hurt thing. She picked it up and put it in her heart.
There in her heart, it hurt, like a baby bird fallen from its nest.
The police were called. They couldn’t help. One of the officers said to her, “Hopefully you can pull yourself together and put this thing behind you. ”
She did that, the best she could, but the hurt still lay within her.
So she went to church. “You’ve sinned,” the church said. “You have to repent, and never to do that again.” She was struck to the quick, and she did as she was told, and said what she was supposed to say.
She actually felt better, but when she left, the hurt thing still flapped a broken wing within.
She looked around desperately for more help. She went to a therapist. “You need to talk about it,” said the therapist, “and grieve.”
She did, and it helped, but still the hurt didn’t leave her.
A friend told her to go to the doctor. She did. The doctor gave her some pills. They helped, but she could still apprehend the hurt thing, as if it was calling to her from the room next door.
She lived, and worked, and took care of herself, and survived.
Years later, she met someone who after they had gotten to know her a bit, asked her what was wrong.
“Nothing,’ she said.
“What happened to you?” they asked.
“You can tell?” she said.
“Yes,” her new friend said, “it’s in your eyes.”
“I put some hurt in my heart,” she said.
“I am so sorry,” her new friend said. “I did the same thing.”
And then, just like that the new friend climbed into her heart.
“What are you doing?” asked to he girl who had tried everything, shocked and alarmed by what was happening.
And answering from inside of her heart, her new friend said, “I’m holding your hurt.”
And then they both began to cry.
“I’m so sorry,” the one in her heart sobbed, that this happened to you.”
There was some more crying, both of them were crying, and then there was a long silence.
Then the girl who had tried everything said quietly, “It’s not hurting right now.”